


Keep Me Warm

by freyjawriter24



Series: Writing prompts and challenges [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Hates the Cold (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Early Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Snow, Snowball Fight, but they love each other very much and they'll get there in the end, they're still getting used to things like holding hands in public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: While out for a romantic walk in the snow, Crowley gets embroiled in an epic snowball fight - forgetting, of course, that snow and ex-snakes don't tend to mix well. Luckily, he's got his own personal guardian angel to administer all the warmth (and love) he needs.***Fic written as a pinch-hit forPepperVLfor the GO Events server's Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Writing prompts and challenges [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805341
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PepperVL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/gifts).



> Title is from [a song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9OSokMeyvk) by Erin Bowman.
> 
> This fic is a gift for PepperVL, who put together and ran this mini-event on the GO Events discord server. I'm sorry you've had to wait for so long to receive your gift, but I hope I've done enough with it to show how much I (and everyone else in the server) appreciate the time and effort you put into this wonderful spot of winter joy.
> 
> Written using the prompt: "Aziraphale & Crowley warming up after a day out in the cold/snow" with the suggestion of mild hurt/comfort. I really hope you enjoy this!

It started by accident, really. At least, that’s what Crowley would later insist: a stray snowball, badly aimed by a child – it happened from time to time, of course it did. Never mind that he’d been the one to walk them closer to the fight when he saw it break out, and let’s ignore that that _particular_ child hadn’t missed a shot yet, and yes we’ll _also_ pretend that Aziraphale didn’t see the demon’s hand flick upwards with a miracle to redirect the snowball at himself at the last moment.

“Oh! Sorry!” the child called out. The rest of their friends paused mid-frenzy for a moment, waiting to see if the fun had been ruined.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, eyebrows raised in question, mouth twitching slightly at the effort to conceal his glee from the kids. The angel squeezed the demon’s gloved hand fondly and released him. Crowley jumped into action at once.

“Honestly,” the Serpent of Eden said dramatically, stepping off the path and into the snow. He bent down for a handful of it, grinning wickedly. “How dare you attack an _innocent civilian_? That’s just _rude_.”

“Didn’t mean to,” the child grinned back, readying themself with a snowball of their own.

“Just the nerve of it,” Crowley said, rounding the snow in his hand. “ _Throwing_ something at someone who hasn’t done _anything_ to you.”

Then he lobbed the projectile, and it hit perfectly – square in the chest of an entirely different child on the opposite side of the group.

The cluster of children erupted in excitement. All of them began chucking snow at the demon, and then at each other again, and now Crowley was just one of the gang, playing along at fighting – and yet miraculously not getting hit himself.

After a few minutes, the children recognised this fact, and began solely throwing snow at Crowley, watching with awe as he ducked and jumped out of the way of each one, a black-and-red blur against the stark white snow. He was expending a fair few minor miracles to stop the snow touching him, but mostly it was his serpentine spine and uncanny speed that made him impossible to hit.

“I’ve been playing this game since long before you were _born_ ,” he cackled. “No chance you’re going to win against _me_.”

Then a loud _thump_ echoed out, and the kids gasped. Crowley turned, open-mouthed, to stare at Aziraphale. The children behind the demon giggled to see the sudden patch of white on the previously spotless back of his pitch-black coat.

“Sorry, dear,” the angel said cheerily. “But you definitely haven’t been playing it since before _I_ was born, so it’s only fair really.”

_You bastard,_ Crowley’s expression said.

_I know,_ Aziraphale’s said back. _And you love me for it._

And thus a second celestial joined the snowball fight.

The group quickly divided into two teams, an ethereal being on one and an occult one on the other. They delighted in throwing as much frozen water at each other as possible, flinging handfuls of the stuff left, right, and centre, giggling all the while.

Crowley and Aziraphale were really the only ones fast (and miraculous) enough to hit each other with any sort of regularity, but the kids didn't care. There was catharsis in being able to throw something at a grown-up with no consequences, even if they mostly missed. And the celestials made sure that every kid landed a solid hit at least once.

They were also careful to ensure the fight was a safe one. Gentle miracles sent out over the area made sure none of the snowballs were hard or fast enough to hurt, that no one ended up with snow directly in their faces, and that no one felt left out or unfairly targeted. It was a little thing, but it made all the difference to the children, even if they never realised it. And their parents and guardians, sat or stood nearby, were grateful for that, too.

In the end, the fight culminated in an epic rush on the demon, every child hurling snowball after snowball at Crowley and backing him into a corner until he collapsed dramatically to the ground, vanquished like a great wyrm. The children dumped snow on top of him, crowing their victory, until he was buried up to his red-scarfed neck, trapped into an eternity of icy imprisonment.

It was, all in all, an excellent snowball fight.

The trouble came afterwards, once Aziraphale and a few of the remaining kids had dug Crowley out again. With any adrenaline now used up and no more running or dodging to keep his corporation warm, the demon’s layers of clothes – dampened from the outside by half-melted snow, and from the inside by abently-produced sweat – began to freeze in the chilled air.

As they began to continue their walk together around the park, Aziraphale reached out a tentative hand to take Crowley’s back into his and found the demon shivering.

“Oh, my dear! You should have said something, you’re freezing! Let’s get you back home to the bookshop.”

The demon’s cheeks warmed at Aziraphale referring to A.Z. Fell and Co. as their shared home (as if he hadn’t always been the ‘Co.’), but it didn’t do the rest of his body any good. He attempted to casually brush off the angel’s worries, but it was slightly impeded by the fact that his teeth chattered as he did so.

“Nah, I’m f-f-fine. Let’sss keep going. N-need to f-f-finish our w-walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. You’re quite obviously _not_ fine. Let’s get a taxi, we can pick up the Bentley another time.”

By this point, Crowley was shaking so much he was out of energy for excuses, so he let Aziraphale guide him to the nearest section of road and into a miraculously-awaiting cab. There was (likely by similar ethereal intervention) very little traffic, and they arrived at the door to the bookshop within minutes.

“Come along, dear, let’s get you inside and warmed up.”

There was a burst of hot air against Crowley’s half-numb skin as he stepped over the threshold, which only made him shiver more. He stood on the doormat, not quite knowing what to do, just letting the ambient warmth of the place wash over him, and trying not to vibrate apart.

Aziraphale was bustling around, flicking the blinds closed with a thought, deftly shucking his coat and gloves, rushing to find dry clothes, and disappearing into the back room with piles of soft-looking fabric. He came back a moment later to find the demon in the doorway still hadn’t moved.

“Right then,” the angel said gently, an encouraging smile masking his concern. He reached for the buttons of the demon’s thick woollen coat. “Let’s get you changed. You’ll be warm in no time.”

“Nng,” Crowley protested weakly, shuddering as Aziraphale coaxed the demon out of his coat. “’Sss juss m-makin’ me colder.”

Aziraphale raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Crowley, you’re literally dripping. I rather think you’ve been on Earth long enough to know that cold, sodden fabric is _not_ going to help you warm up.”

He hung the demon’s coat to dry on the rack, then reached up to unwind the long red scarf that Aziraphale himself had insisted Crowley wear. He could practically wring it out on the doormat.

“Look at this. Positively drenched! No wonder you’re so freezing. You really should waterproof your wool, my dear. And I expect the rest of it is equally bad…”

He pulled off Crowley’s beanie, and confirmed his suspicions. It was made of the same black wool as his coat, which served to conceal how water-logged it was. He squeezed a few drops of water out, then laid it and the scarf on the radiator to dry.

“...honestly, you’d think someone who used to be a snake would take more care in ensuring they didn’t ever get too cold to function…”

Beneath the hat, the demon’s short red hair hung damply down, limp and bedraggled. Aziraphale ran a hand through it, pushing the hair off Crowley’s forehead to stop it from sticking, and allowing himself an instant of quiet delight at the softness of it.

It was only when he dropped his hand that he noticed the demon’s open-mouthed surprise and realised what he’d done. How close they were. How casual and intimate the gesture.

The angel took a step back and cleared his throat. “Ah, right. Come on then. I’ve put some spare pyjamas on the sofa for you to wear.” He led the way, checking behind him to make sure Crowley was following. “We’ll get you changed and wrapped up in some nice warm, _dry_ blankets, and I’ll make you a hot drink, and then we can go from there. Sound good?”

Crowley made a noise that hovered somewhere between sarcastic ‘alright, _fine_ ’ and desperate ‘yes please’ but wouldn’t fully commit to either. Aziraphale suppressed an eye roll with a fond smile.

“Here we are,” the angel said as they entered the back room. He gestured loosely to the pile of tartan in Crowley’s usual spot on the sofa. “Would you rather tea or cocoa?”

The demon opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Um… cocoa, please.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Aziraphale bustled off again in the direction of the kitchenette, and soon the bookshop was filled with the soothing, homely sound of hot drinks being prepared.

This was the beauty of life after the thwarting of the Apocalypse. The space for simple domesticity. The chance to spend time together outside of covert meetings and late-night binges. The potential to be to each other in the open what they’d been trying to hide from Heaven and Hell for millennia.

The angel appeared a few minutes later with two large mugs filled with sweet-smelling warmth.

“Would you like me to heat some water for your feet? It might help you…” He trailed off at the sight of Crowley on the sofa.

On the one hand, there was the incredible, impossible sight of a skinny, red-haired demon cloaked in Aziraphale’s own tartan, bundled up in old-fashioned pyjamas and tucked into layers of thick blankets like he belonged there (which he did, of course he did), that made the angel’s chest want to burst with love. On the other hand, there was an embarrassed look of frustration on Crowley’s face that tugged at Aziraphale’s overflowing heart.

“Dear me, what’s wrong?”

“C-can’t take them off,” Crowley stuttered out, swiping his gloved hands ineffectually across one another. The sleek black leather, neatly tailored to snugly fit each finger, was more than a match for the frozen fingers inside. No matter what he did, the demon’s current lack of dexterity had rendered him infuriatingly unable to remove them.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, and saw the earnest hurt on Crowley’s face. He was genuinely upset by this. Not specifically at the gloves, perhaps – maybe more at himself. At having allowed himself to become so... vulnerable.

The angel put down the drinks on the nearest available book-free surface, and stepped closer to the sofa. Watching Crowley carefully for any hint of discomfort, he knelt at the demon’s feet, and reached out to catch one of the leather-encased hands in his own. He held it as gently, as reverently as possible, and began to work the glove off finger by finger.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I don’t often get the chance to look after you. You treat me so wonderfully, Crowley, always taking me out for lunch or walks or buying me treats and suchlike. And I so rarely spoil you in the same way.”

An attempted protest from deep within the demon’s throat was silenced by a look.

“I know you don’t _need_ it, Crowley, but that’s hardly the point. I – I want you to feel loved. I want you to know how much you mean to me, and I want to repay the... honestly _endless_ gifts of affection you give me. I want to look after _you_ for a change. If that’s something you’d be amenable to. I’d like to give you the chance to relax.”

Aziraphale dared a glance upward then. Crowley’s sunglasses were still in place, what with his current lack of digital dexterity, but his whole face had taken on such an expression of softness that the angel could picture precisely what his eyes looked like underneath.

With a smooth final motion, the leather glove slid free, releasing Crowley’s frozen fingers to the air. The demon looked confusedly down at them for a moment, as if he’d forgotten what Aziraphale was doing.

Slowly, though not hesitantly, Aziraphale raised his demon’s ungloved hand towards his own face. Without breaking contact with the wide eyes behind those dark lenses, he pressed a momentary kiss to Crowley’s fingers.

They remained suspended in that moment for who knew how long, each unwilling to break the spell that had been cast. The ethereal power of that kiss, hot against chilled skin, seemed to echo back down the chain of time, connecting every previous instant they had shared to this one.

Then the warm breeze of the angel’s breath ghosting over his knuckles seemed to drag Crowley back to the present, and he winced at the sensation in his iced joints. Aziraphale let him take his hand away and flex it in the empty air.

“Other one, please,” he murmured, then silently repeated the process, albeit this time leaving Crowley’s fingers unkissed.

The gloves were put aside, and Aziraphale retrieved Crowley’s mug of hot cocoa to wrap his hands around and warm them up.

The angel continued to hover near the sofa. “Did you want the hot water for your feet? I have an electric heater around here somewhere, too. And I, er… I realise tartan isn’t really your style – I have some simpler blankets if you’d rather. And if you’re not a fan of the pyjamas, I think I might have a t-shirt or two upstairs, though I can’t guarantee there’s much in the way of comfortable trousers that would fit you.”

“Angel,” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale stopped rambling at once.

“Yes?”

“Your tartan’s fine.” A soft smile graced those beautiful demonic features, and a partially-reheated hand reached up to clumsily pull off Crowley’s sunglasses and bare the open, honest eyes beneath. “I… I like wearing it. Makes me feel…”

He waved a hand loosely through the air, searching for the right word.

“Claimed, maybe,” he finished, ears now pink from something other than cold.

Surely it wasn’t possible for even a celestial being to contain this much emotion? They couldn’t possibly have been created to withstand it.

“You’re my family,” Aziraphale said simply, hoping his voice wasn’t too thick with sentiment. “That’s what tartan’s for, isn’t it?”

“S’pose.”

With no dark glasses to hide his eyes, the tenderness of Crowley’s expression was on full display. Such utter softness, such bright-eyed joy, such deep, illimitable love. Aziraphale could hardly stand to look into such gorgeous intensity, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Crowley was the one who eventually broke the moment, blinking once and frowning intently. “Hang about, when on Earth did _you_ get around to owning a _t-shirt_?”

“What?” It took a second for Aziraphale to find his way back to the previous thread of conversation, but once he did he immediately switched to indignance. “Why shouldn’t I own a t-shirt?”

“No reason, except I’ve never seen you wear one. Or anything even _approaching_ that level of casualness, for that matter.”

“Yes, well. I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Crowley’s lips twitched a little at that, a suppressed grin threatening to consume his whole face. “Oh, really? Like w-what?”

“Like the fact that I’m going to _smite_ you unless you drink that cocoa _right now_. You’re still shaking.”

The demon rolled his eyes but obediently began to sip at the sweet drink, allowing its warmth to trickle through his system and heat him from the inside out. Aziraphale left in the direction of the kitchenette and came back a minute later with a large washing-up bowl of steaming water, a bundle of towels tucked under an arm.

“Here,” he said, plonking the tub down in front of Crowley. “Put your feet in this, it’ll help. And keep drinking that, I want it all gone by the time I get back.”

He disappeared again, and returned a couple of minutes later with an ancient-looking space heater, which dutifully switched on when Aziraphale pressed the right button, despite the power cable remaining firmly wrapped around the hooks at the back.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect, angel. Thank you.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Do you need anything else?”

“Think I’m alright now.”

“Are you sure?”

Crowley gave him a softly-exasperated look. “Yes, angel. I’m fine.”

“Right. Okay.”

Aziraphale dithered for a moment longer, still looking for things to do to help, before his eyes lighted on the second, undrunk mug of cocoa. He picked it up and settled himself into a chair, dedicating himself to watching over Crowley as the demon slowly stopped shivering.

By the time the water at Crowley’s feet had cooled to room temperature, he was looking much more like himself. Aziraphale put down his now-empty cocoa mug and knelt in front of the demon for the second time that evening. He laid a fluffy white towel over his knees, then carefully lifted one of Crowley’s feet out of the water and began gently to dry it.

Echoes of ancient stories and old memories drifted through the bookshop. Not for the first time that day, the very air felt delicate as the angel dried each of the demon’s feet – and then encased them in fluffy yellow slippers shaped like ducks.

“They were… all I had lying around,” Aziraphale said apologetically.

Crowley didn’t remark upon the obvious lie, and waited until the angel left to pour away the water before he buried his face in a section of tartan blanket to quietly let out his emotions.

He’d composed himself again by the time Aziraphale returned, and had untucked a few layers of blanket to try and use his mostly-back-to-normal fingers to do up the endless buttons on the pyjama top.

“When did buttons get so fiddly?”

“I expect sometime around when you began manifesting your clothes rather than putting them on properly.”

“Fair point.”

Aziraphale had acquired a book on his trip back from the sink, and looked about ready to settle himself into the same chair as before – his usual spot opposite the sofa.

“Angel? Could I…?”

Aziraphale paused, not yet seated. “Yes? What do you need?”

“I don’t… I mean, well. Would you mind if…” Crowley’s brow furrowed in annoyance, irritated by his own inability to just _ask_ for what he wanted, after so long trying not to.

It was the angel’s turn to be patient now. And he was, of course – after all, he’d had plenty of time to learn from the master.

“’S not essential, I just… wondered… if you’d like to sit on the sofa this time. With… me.”

Crowley often forgot just how brightly Aziraphale’s smile could shine. It was the kind of pure, unadulterated joy that made him think, every time, of a halo. He was very firmly of the opinion that a human had seen Aziraphale beam once and come up with the concept from that moment alone.

On this occasion, Aziraphale was shining brighter than any star in the known universe, and at incredibly close range. “Of course I would, dearest.”

A moment later, the angel was settled beside his demon, a shared tartan blanket spread across both their laps.

“Are you still cold?” Aziraphale murmured.

“Only a little.” He smiled nervously. “Perhaps you could…?”

The angel stretched on arm behind Crowley, wrapping him in a sideways embrace. Slowly, the demon leant into him, until his head was nestled onto Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Comfortable?”

“Mmm. Yeah. You?”

“Perfectly.”

With his other hand, Aziraphale opened the book he’d chosen, and began to read. Crowley closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the rhythmic rise and fall of his angel’s breathing. Outside, the snow was beginning to fall again, muffling any noise from the street. Inside, the only sound was the quiet rustle of turning pages.

This was the point of it all. Safety, happiness, love. A place they could call home, among the humans they were bound by choice to protect, away from the pressures of those who had dared think that they could control them. The freedom to look after one another, and explore what they wanted with each other, and simply enjoy being beside one another, in as human a way as possible.

Crowley drifted off to sleep cushioned by the love of his favourite being in all of creation. And Aziraphale read happily on, holding close his own favourite person, and loving him completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, PepperVL! I really hope you enjoyed this, and that it was (at least a little) worth the wait. Thank you again for running this whole event!


End file.
